Penumbra

 

Flecks of colour in the night
Flickers of motion beyond sight.
The glory of memory
Of you and me. Of you and me.
Repetition of this ceremony

Beneath the waves of this sanctuary.
With a touch as cold as the altar stone
And bed a barren ocean where I lay alone
Within this dark. Where outside lights
Dance and tease just out of sight.

No heart’s comfort now you have gone
The hearth is cold within this home,
And in the garden flowers might
Crumble to dust; in this world turned black and white.
 
© 2017 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

Low Tide

photo credit: Crunchy Footsteps Tidepooling in La Jolla- tide coming in via photopin (license)

photo credit: Crunchy Footsteps Tidepooling in La Jolla- tide coming in via photopin (license)

Wave after wave,
This life of leavings and goodbyes.
No crescendo just diminuendo,
Petering out into silent partings
And solitary sighs.
 
© 2017 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

These Silent Stones

'The Artist's Halt in the Desert' by Richard Dadd http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/legalcode

‘The Artist’s Halt in the Desert’ by Richard Dadd http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/legalcode

I travel alone through this desert
Though my companions are many.
The silent stones around this oasis
Weep tears into the water

While moonlight glistens upon my fears.
False memories, these heartbeat melodies
Are the ghosts listening outside the circle
Beyond the fire glow, out in the dark

Shadows of the night. These desert sands,
An hourglass with eternity running out
A warrior’s fight with demons not of his making,
Surround me becoming part of my being.

I travel in silence, but never alone
While comfort and solace lurk round the oasis.
The darkness relents with the kiss of the dawn,
Earth rotates and day begins again.
 
© 2016 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

Marching in step

I’m so alone

Nobody understands

What it is I’m going through.

How can they possibly

Understand,

When everybody out there

Is as screwed up as me.

 

© 2015 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.

A day begins

Day 30 of the 30 Reblogs of November.
I’ll end this month of looking back, with what turned out to be the joint top most popular post, in terms of likes that a single posting received.
I’ve chosen this poem to end the month purely because I was surprised and delighted by the response it received first time around. A big thank you to you all for your support.

Made of sticks and stones

Raindrops on the roof

Sounds like faraway footsteps

When heard from beneath the sheet

Cocooned within my sanctuary

Where you left me. Spent,

With just a veneer of honesty,

 

A single atom wide

All that lay between us.

Our bodies entwined

Fingertips gently touching.

My lips would rest upon your neck,

With whispered promises of forever.

 

Then I closed my eyes

To wake alone, without you.

I’m left to rebuild the lies.

The silken thread, wound tight,

That keeps daylight out.

The day begins without you.

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A day begins

Raindrops on the roof

Sounds like faraway footsteps

When heard from beneath the sheet

Cocooned within my sanctuary

Where you left me. Spent,

With just a veneer of honesty,

 

A single atom wide

All that lay between us.

Our bodies entwined

Fingertips gently touching.

My lips would rest upon your neck,

With whispered promises of forever.

 

Then I closed my eyes

To wake alone, without you.

I’m left to rebuild the lies.

The silken thread, wound tight,

That keeps daylight out.

The day begins without you.